Feeling the razor's edge
by MLaw
Summary: Kuryakin has a difficult decision to make in order to prepare for a mission in France. Fre-saga


It wasn't the first time Illya Kuryakin had worn the brown robes of a **monk,** nor would it probably be the last. Somehow even with the length of his hair he'd gotten away with not cutting it short, nor performing the act of tonsure which was shaving some or all of the hair on the scalp as a sign of religious devotion and humility.

That was, he avoided it until now. He'd do whatever it took to successfully complete an assignment but the idea butchering his hair, he found...upsetting.

He once paid a barber ten dollars American not to cut his hair, which Napoleon found rather amusing. His partner went on about it for quite some time but eventually he stopped as he wasn't getting much of a rise from his partner.

Now it was beginning all over again, except this time the tonsure had to happen.

The haircut meant the renunciation of worldly things and personal vanity. Monks and nuns also took a vow of celibacy, and hair had historically been associated with eroticism and sexuality; it was as a means to attract the opposite sex.

Sex? He didn't plan on giving that up, though Napoleon seemed to think he was like a monk already in that respect. If he proceeded with the tonsure, what woman would look twice at him.

Historians said that monastic hairstyles also may have related to the ancient custom of shaving the heads of male slaves. Some early monks who began shaving their heads voluntarily referred to themselves as 'slaves of Christ.' Such hairstyles thusly would show that a person entering religious life intended to subordinate his own will to the will of God.

That wasn't going to be the case for Kuryakin. He would be at the monastery for a short a time as possible, and he supposed sacrificing his hair for such a brief mission seemed rather extreme. Yet he needed to appear authentic, and merely wearing the brown robes and sandals just would not do at all.

His cover was to be that of a monk from the Great Britain, given his English affected a rather British tone to it, therefore the style of hair cut would be have to be the transverse tonsure in which evolved in the British Isles. There monks shaved the front part and top of their head from ear to ear but left the hair in the back hanging longer.

Illya paced the floor off the chateau where he was supposed to be preparing himself for his assignment, yet he was feeling down, **blue** as Napoleon might call it.

Why was the idea of cutting his hair so unsettling to him? Illya asked himself that question over and over. Was he really being that vain? Not possible; it was Napoleon who was the vain one, not he.

He finally walked into the bathroom where his straight razor awaited him…

Napoleon was downstairs in the sitting room. He knew Illya wasn't happy about cutting his hair, much less shaving the top of his head.

Solo reached for his glass of wine and looked up, seeing his partner enter the room in his full monk's attire. The hair...that beautiful blond hair was gone for the most part.

He tried not to laugh when he realized that Illya had a rather large head, and somehow his shaggy mop of hair masked that fact.

"Say one word Napoleon and I will really have your teeth for cufflinks."

"I wasn't going to say anything Brother...what's the name you're using for your cover?"

"Eustace. Brother Eustace."

" St. Eustace as I recall, was burned to death for refusing to worship the Roman gods and is now regarded as the patron saint of hunters."

"Thank you Napoleon, that is such a cheerful thought," Illya groused."Next time you get to play the monk and I will be the backup."

"Hmm, I don't think so. Being senior agent doth have its privileges."

Kuryakin made his way to the monastery and was welcomed with open arms. He was expected after all.

Ironically his assignment was all for naught and the intelligence they'd received was faulty. There was no THRUSH lair, no conspiracy...it was just a community of holy monks engaged in prayer, and making bread for the locals.

Meeting his partner back at the chateau, Illya went upstairs to change to his own clothing.

Napoleon fought back a smile, seeing Kuryakin's haircut with his suit made it seem even more amusing.

"So going to shave your head completely tovarisch? It might be a good look for you, though it's usually the bad guys who go for the bald pate look."

"I have absolutely no intention of doing so."

"Really? You're going to walk around with a monk's hairstyle. I don't think that'll go over too well on assignments. You'd stick out like a sore thumb."

"As would I if I went for the ummm, Daddy Warlock's look."

"That's Daddy Warbucks chum."

"Either way, that will not be the case." Illya reached to the back of his head, and in the blink of an eye he removed a latex head piece.

He ran his fingers through his hair, shaking it until it looked more like itself. Illya had decided there was no way he was going to cut his hair, and it wasn't about vanity...it was about his mother.

She had long beautiful blonde hair...it was one of his lasting memories of her from his childhood. He kept his hair longer in honor of her. It somehow gave him a connection to her. Though it was his hair not hers, still it came from her since his father's hair was auburn.

"Well don't that beat all," Napoleon smiled."You really are a smart Russian, aren't you?"

"This you are just realizing? Now pour me a vodka please and make it a double," Illya flashed a sly smile.


End file.
